Wednesday, June 15, 2011


This song’s got the internet going nuts, prompting Deep Discussions of race and gender and the politics of authenticity at places like The Root and NPR.com, and inspiring people to write things like this:

    Elvis Presley was not the originator of rock ‘n’ roll. That would be Chuck Berry. Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” is said to be the first hip-hop song to top the Billboard charts (others argue it was “Rapture” by Blondie). Justin Timberlake went from the pop sensation group ‘N Sync to the soulful singing White boy with swag. My point? America has always capitalized off of Black culture. Kreayshawn, the new White girl rapper, is only the latest byproduct

Now, maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last two years in the sometimes-wearying war zone of identity politics that is a contemporary university English department, but I just can’t get super agitated about this sort of stuff these days. Like, if I was writing about this even two years ago I’d probably be here talking about what a gross and horrible example of racist cultural appropriation this was and about how truly awful white people are, but I can no longer manage to muster up that sort of (faux-)outrage anymore, since getting salty about white people “stealing” rap in 2011 just seems kinda pointless and weirdly anachronistic. It’s like, who really cares if some white girl from Oakland is “acting black”? Like what does that even mean anymore?  And is the phenomena of privileged academic blogger-types styling themselves as the gatekeepers of Real Rap Authenticity really any less of a pose than what Kreayshawn is doing? If some 22 year old girl from East Oakland wants to make rap songs about shooting haters with a pearl-handled gun and pumping swag out of her ovaries, and happens to make a whole lot of money doing so, who are we to begrudge her?

I mean, it’s not that I think that the racial and gender dynamics at work in contemporary pop music aren’t worth examining critically (they are), or that our culture isn’t still shot through with all sorts of ugly and troubling problems relating to these issues (it is), it’s just that I find it somewhat tiresome when every discussion about these things defaults to the same set of shopworn questions and concerns. Music doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and to act as though Kreayshawn’s relationship with so-called “black music” is in any way comparable to Vanilla Ice’s or (more absurdly) Elvis Presley’s is to operate under the premise that the cultural climate of 2011 is somehow comparable to that of 1991 or 1953, which is simply ludicrous. Times change, cultural dynamics change, and, if it wants to stay relevant and important, cultural criticism needs to change along with them.

As for the song itself, and this might just be a byproduct of the complete and total deterioration of my critical faculties w/r/t new music, but I sorta really dig it. On the merits, it’s no great shakes—her flow is somewhat stilted at times, the lyrics outside of a few choice moments (eg, the aforementioned line about swag and ovaries) are unremarkable, the beat is merely serviceable, etc—but so what? It’s summertime, which means the only real criteria for judging a song are “Will this sound good coming out of car windows?” and “Will this work on a BBQ playlist?” This clears both those bars with room to spare.

2 comments:

  1. Agreed. I would be the first one to argue that race and appropriation of racial/cultural "things" is still important, but like you, I don't think these things can be examined in a vacuum, now or in the past. Despite Kreayshawn's skin color, she grew up in East Oakland. East fuckin' Oakland. That means something. Does that give her the credibility to use a musical genre that began in other "poor" "rundown" "hoods"? Yes. It does. I don't think that's a controversial thing to say or do. The fact is, and this is what is damaging to race theory, is that race is inextricably tied to socioeconomics in this country. That is perhaps what makes race and music theory/culturalists so queasy about Vanilla Ice, but really shouldn't with folks like Kreayshawn.

    Growing up around lower class black people doesn't make you black, but it does give you a perspective that is far different than growing in the upper-middle class suburbs and arguably makes you have less in common with the average white person than it does with the average lower class black person.

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  2. Agree 100% about the need to take class into account when dealing with cultural appropriation. An interesting corollary to this discussion is that Kreayshawn has been co-signed by Odd Future, which is mostly comprised of middle class black kids. When Tyler, The Creator--who by all accounts grew up with at least relative comfort--makes songs lambasting "white America" is he also committing a form of cultural appropriation? Or is all of this just a case of kids growing up listening to rap music, internalizing certain tropes, and then making use of those tropes in their own music? What does it even mean to make "authentic" hip hop in an age filled with studio gangstas and former Degrassi stars with record deals? Does it matter that Rick Ross used to be a C.O.? Should we actually care if Nas didn't live it but witnessed it from his folks' pad, scribbled in his notepad, and created his life? And even if you do think some of these things are problematic, aren't there bigger fish to fry than some 22 year old girl who scored a surprise YouTube hit?

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